They again sat thinking a little:
“Playing with the angels!... Have you ever seen angels, Doorke?”
“Yes, in the procession, Horieneke.”
“Ah, but I mean live ones! I saw some last night, live ones; and they were in white, Doorke, with long trains and golden hair and diamond crowns, and they were singing in a beautiful garden!...”
With raised eyebrows and earnest gestures of her little forefinger, she told him all her dream of the angels and the swings and the singing and the music ... and of father with his sickle.
Doorke hung upon her words.
The thrush started anew and they sat listening.
“What will you do when you grow up, Doorke?”
And she put her arm round the boy’s neck again and looked fondly into his eyes:
“Will you get married, Doorke?”